Capillaries
by WeLcOmE2pArAdIsE
Summary: Drabble III - 'Fervor'. Because he's nearly forgotten the sound of laughter - and what creates it. :JoeAhim:
1. Chasm

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Gokaiger or the characters.

Yes, I know: I am supposed to be working on something else. And I am, but I am on an action scene and I tend to struggle with them, so I wrote this to take a break and work through the painful block on 'Le Ossa'. I may end up putting all of my drabbles on this one story-holder because I have short ideas that just do not have the right themes or 'OOMPH' for a one-shot, you know? I would love to try my hand at LukaAhim, Gai in general, or other short spurts of creativity. So for now, this is my brain's leftovers, but I would love a review if you had the time.

**Drabble I - 'Chasm' - Because a void cannot be filled by one of the same. **

** (Joe/Ahim). Mentions of Episode 13.**

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><p><strong>I.<strong>

Her hair was down.

Perhaps it coincided with the lateness of the hour. Though a white sweater hung on her shoulders, underneath she wore only a thin, sleeveless nightgown. Perhaps she had risen from sleep to complete this task – or had not yet made it to that blissful impasse.

The swordsman guessed the latter. He hovered over her shoulder with a frightening silence as she was engrossed in her task.

So much so that when he finally spoke, her breath stuck fast in her throat and the pen leapt from her thin fingers with almost humorous, slapstick gusto.

"Who is this for?" he inquired, folding his arms tightly. Stared down at the paper with some indefinable combination of curiosity and suspicion, he twitched the dark, graceful ends of his hair away from his face. The better to glare with.

"I am writing a letter, Joe-san," she responded, turning her head only enough to welcome him into her peripheral vision. Though he feels intrusive, her lack of honesty is too obvious to ignore.

He leaned over further – or loomed, one could say.

"You started to write an 'N'." His tone may echo monotone, but the fact that he had not bothered to leave validated his irritation. Ahim moved her fingers carefully, even absentmindedly, over the words. Her discomfort seemed to latch onto him, now, seeping quietly beneath his skin.

His eyes dipped for a second, and he coughed in a manner seeming pathetically insincere – goosebumps rose and swept across her collarbones, reaching past the hem of her nightdress. Down to the beckoning parts of her that he always pretends do not exist.

"Ahim?"

"Joe-san . . . remember quite some time ago when I ran into trouble with the Zangyack? Alone?"

"When they took you, you mean?" A sharp snap of a sentence, with a mean bite.

"Yes. And I met Nashida."

"That man."

"A kind man."

Joe did not respond – _a shady character_, his mind supplied, but Ahim's tone did not appreciate his suspicion.

A silence blossomed, and Ahim sighed, taking up the pen again. Her penmanship was impeccable, and Joe could not help notice how ridiculously precise her loops and crosses and dots were.

"What about him?" Joe asked, moving his head slightly to try reading her latest sentence.

"I am writing to him," she finished airily, as though it had settled the matter. Indeed, her shoulders rose against her neck while she learned further over the table, further obscuring the letter.

"Why?" Joe demanded. Instantly he recognized the tone. His tone. The same tone he had used when speaking with his Captain about this man who had been "hanging around" at the end of that battle. They had shared their masculine, overprotective, simultaneous nod of assent about this unknown character. They had been taut and at the ready when the former princess had gone up to him. He had bowed. She had spoken to him. So close, so kind. The crew had watched him carefully.

And Joe had watched her smile.

"Well, why not?" she responded, for all the world sounding as evasive and cheeky as Luka.

"Why?"

"Again I ask, Joe-san, why not? I enjoy corresponding with him."

"And?"

"And?"

"What do you tell him?"

"Nothing would put any of us in danger, if that is what you are worried about."

"Hm."

"Why do you mistrust him, Joe-san?" She laid down the pen and carefully tugged her sweater tight around her nightdress. Folding the letter carefully, she continued. "Or do you believe that I am not capable of discerning this man's character?"

Joe realized how sloppily he had handled this – the tone in her voice was surprisingly chilly. It was as poignant as if she had raised her voice, but this was how she always dealt with things. Gracefully. Calmly.

"I didn't mean to imply that."

"I am sure you did not."

Without warning she rose from the chair. He instinctively pulled it away so she had room to turn away from the table; she turned and inclined her head.

"Thank you. Now if you will excuse me . . ."

He stood in the dim main room with more questions poised on his lips. Now they are nothing but rough-edged, bristling emotions which he cannot express kindly or eloquently. His gaze rested somewhere in the space between her gently curved shoulder blades as she began to walk away. Eventually his eyes fell to her bare feet, the footsteps of her departure like enticing whispers upon the wood.

Don't.

"Ahim."

And now she hears the real question: _Why are you writing to __**him**_?

She did not answer, and he took heavy, booted footsteps toward her. Facing away with her head bowed low, his eyes took in stupid and irrelevant details. The tangle of her dark, loose locks and the tense muscle twitching in her left calf, as if she were ready to flee.

Behind her he stood, only centimeters separating her trembling body from his. He detested his unrelenting ability to upset her and demonstrate such a lack of any ounce of emotional comfort.

"Letter-writing was a hobby of mine," she said quietly. How hard she tried to maintain her level voice, yet it was on the brink of a sob. "I wrote letters to other nobles, but my preference was to write to, and on the behalf of, the common people. They needed a voice."

She straightened and lifted her head high, regaining the composure bred deep in her marrow; as if it had suddenly returned, Joe watched her set her shoulders, spine undulated, solidified. A pirate that never forgot her grace.

Before his mind could rationally process a thing, he softly grasped her upper arms with calloused, scarred hands. It was not a sweet gesture – that same sprouting spine existed for him as well. Bred a soldier, he was far too guilty to strip away his armor.

His heavy exhale gently tossed her hair.

Whether she had relented and leaned back or he had moved forward to touch, neither knew for sure. Her voice was another whisper, tenuous but alluring and almost raspy. Again, with a touch of frost. Though he loved her voice sweet, to be sure, he had fell victim to the vulnerable sounds of loss.

It felt wrong to love a voice laced with pain.

"Besides . . . I have no one else to write to."


	2. Tazza da Tè

I suppose this is an answer to** Sir Koji**'s question: Yes, I have several ideas for little spin-offs here and there, and this happens to be one of them. I am not guaranteeing they will all be JoeAhim, because I want to have a LukaAhim interaction as well as a JoeMarve interaction pertaining to 'Le Ossa' -verse. This one is JoeAhim as well, though, and more meandering, misleading lead-ins to other ideas I have planned. There's time passing for this one, though, because Gai is in here, which accounts for his lack of any subtlety, haha. That said, you probably need to read that story to understand this one. HINT you should alert this. :)

**Drabble II: Because the First Mate is loveblind and awkward.**

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><p><strong>II. <strong>**Tazza da Tè**

"Eep!"

What a bold move for the swordsman that he steals her away from the group, and under his captain's nose, no less. It can be assumed, though, that the man in the red coat has known about the plan all along and lets it transpire without a hitch.

One moment she is walking with eyes glittering and aglow, absorbing the dazzling sunlight – smiling at the hustle and bustle of people out to play.

And the next, her vision whirls and blurs. Ahim feels her cheeks redden as a stray, unorthodox thought teases its way out of her composed conscious, _swept off my feet._

They are in a silent alley, the sun held away by brick walls and the mangled remains of fire escapes. Here, in the dark, she blinks her eyes to adjust and stammers, "J-Joe-san!"

He catches her eyes, looks away. Always a little awkward when alone with her, his gaze settles on her jeweled headband. "I'm taking you somewhere. If you want."

As usual, he does not ask; the courtesies fall into line at the end, likely by her subtle tutelage and the fact that he has a patience with her that no one else receives. Or deserves.

She is skeptical. Her eyes survey the dingy alley – if she did not trust him as much as she did, the situation would be uncomfortable.

He nearly takes her hand, but at the last second takes her by the forearm. His eyes ask for cooperation.

"Take me there, if you would be so kind."

Something blue gently envelops her vision, she feels his hands touch her shoulders, hesitate, and then carefully hold them.

"If it bothers you, let me know."

"Hmm, what is this?" she asks, and he is pleased to hear the apprehension fading from her voice. A light, noble laugh adds décor to her inquiry.

Clears his throat, feeling out of step with his routine life, nervous to try this uncharted territory. "I've got you."

Lightly pushing her shoulders forward, they begin.

Sure, they have fought side-by-side many times, but this is quite different. She can hear –no, feel- their footfalls in startling sync. The gravel crunches in her ears and it is a whirlwind of sensory allure. Light warms her face and is chased away again, and all the while his fingers never relent in grip. The calloused pads of his fingers nervously twitch, however, which makes her wonder just what his plans are. Relying on his direction is odd, but she knows that he is there.

He is always there.

_Ting!_

She recognizes the sound of a bell, usually present in small Earth shops to indicate a newcomer. Only now does he remove his hands from her shoulders, instead cupping her elbows – she tucks them in to avoid just whatever is around her. Still, she stares into blue fabric.

They come to a stop. What she is facing, she is not quite sure. Quietly, he says, "Go ahead."

Tentatively reaches behind her head to remove the blindfold, holding her breath with tightly pressing lips. She blinks in the bright light, but her heart races ahead of cognition. The shelves reach nearly to the ceilings and are laden with every style, color, pattern, and mold imaginable. It wraps her in nostalgia and the endless love of a different time. What brings a sting to her nose and tears to her eyes is not pain, but the intense memory of spring, of open windows and misty curtains, the warmth on her fingers. The scent of herbs mingling with pastries and freshly-aired linen, clinks of china on more of the same.

And the lingering tastes of her mother's tea.

"Choose whatever you want," he says, trying and miserably failing to sound business-like. Nervous. Her expression is unreadable.

At last, a smile breaks – though her finger shakes as she points, (something she almost never does; she does not find it so becoming, but Joe can forgive her), she finds the tiny teacup that will fill her heart.

"You can take your time," he adds uselessly, but her eyes begin to sparkle. Joe wonders just how many others have seen it, though he likes to think he is one of the few.

If not the only.

He reaches to one of the tallest shelves to bring it down to her, and she receives it with two hands. With a life of its own, the teacup surges with a warmth Ahim has not felt in many months, in many moons. Cradling it in with long, thin fingers, she removes one hand and places it over her heart, speechless. Bowing her head, she lets her long locks fall over her face to better hide her watery eyes. "Joe-s-"

Before he thinks about it, he lifts her chin with his finger and thumb. "Don't do all that. It's just a gift." Quickly breaking the contact, he begins to rub the back of his neck, staring at the floor.

Carefully, as if he will break, she steps forward and without warning, as if steeling herself to take a chance, wraps her arms around him completely. She barely reaches his collarbone. His arms are out awkwardly, hovering, stricken and not knowing what to touch. She releases him with a small grin, likely in amusement at his awkward demeanor.

One hand still cradling her gift, she bows slightly and puts her other arm out. His brows furrow and he looks at her questioningly.

"Shall we?"

_Ting!_

They cross the threshold, bound for the city streets, arm-in-arm, returning the wave from the man behind the counter. As the door shuts, he tugs a dark hat low over one eye, smirking distinctly at their retreating figures.

"Where did you two disappear to?" Luka demands, without bothering to greet them properly. "And what did you get?"

Gai emits an ecstatic cry not fit for alien ears and leans in to Ahim – she leans back, slightly startled. "A gift for the lovely princess!" Tilting his head, he contemplates for a moment before twisting his features into another startling display before deducing, "Joe must have given it to her! What is it, Ahim-san?"

With a little wave, she begins to brush it off, but Joe reaches over her shoulder and palms Gai in the face; the latter is continuing to yell in a muffled voice into Joe's large hand. Rolling his eyes, he admonishes,"If you yell any louder, you'll shatter it. It's fragile." Pushing him backward, he brushes past Ahim and walks at the head of the group, quiet and aloof.

She finds being blindfolded by Joe, of all people, ironic, and she muses on this thought. And though the others press her for details, all Ahim has eyes for is the blue bandana in his back pocket, swaying along with his tall, graceful strides.


End file.
